


you (don't) have to stay

by endlesshorizons



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, not really a fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4417703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlesshorizons/pseuds/endlesshorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a telepath, what is the difference between thinking and doing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	you (don't) have to stay

It would come as a surprise to most that when Charles and Erik first fall together over a travel-sized chess set in a motel room in Michigan, it is by Erik’s initiative. In a rare show of professionalism, Charles quietly notes Erik’s reciprocated interest as they shiver onboard a US Coast Guard vessel and refrains from following the maze of the CIA facility hallways to Erik’s new room later that night. This is, after all, more important than anything else that he has ever been involved in before. He is content to simply bask in the attraction he feels leaking from Erik’s mind, which is so immediate and thorough that Charles is both gratified and immensely relieved. This, Charles thinks, can only be real.

When Erik leans over to him, however, mind broadcasting his intent, Charles takes only a minute to consider his attempt at professionalism before judging it to be futile from the start and casting it out the window, only too happy to respond with equal enthusiasm. It isn’t until a few weeks later that the full extent of things hits him.

It is the first night after they arrive at his childhood home, after the Hellfire attack on Division X and a long, stifling drive that was nothing like the unbothered road trips he and Erik had taken around the country recruiting, with Charles practically drowning in the waves of grief and betrayal emanating from the others’ minds. Finally, after settling everyone into the lone still-livable wing of the estate, Charles heads outside for a breath of fresh air after the stress of the day.

Blinking his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he sees that Erik is already there, sitting on the stone steps with a cigarette between his lips.

“Those are terrible for you, you know,” Charles says as he sits down beside the other man.

Erik only looks over with a raised eyebrow and takes a pointed drag, then offers the cigarette to Charles who can’t help but laugh. “Yes, that’s what they say, but did they study the effect on mutants?”

“Hm, my next project then. I’ll be sure to give you the appropriate thanks when I get it published.”

They fall silent together, and Charles begins to finally feel himself relax. The only sounds in the night are the calls of songbirds, but the layers of Erik’s thoughts are a comforting hum beside him. On the surface, his thoughts are marching on rigorously as usual, sorting facts and possibilities and processing eventualities. Beneath that is his anger, both old and new, giving impetus to his actions and plans but banked for now as he sits amidst the meadows of the estate. And underneath and surrounding all of that are the rest of what makes Erik who he is: the edges of his intelligence, the strands of his dry humour, the planes of old pains, the flashing lightning of his passions and ambitions. Charles has never been able to explain the beauty of the human mind to someone else, as a telepath saw it, not quite as images or sounds or sensations but all of those meshed and blended together, complicated and glorious. But no mind he has ever encountered before compares to Erik’s, which had taken his breath away from that first moment he felt him in the water. The layers upon layers are like the floors of a tall, complex skyscraper, one in which Charles can wander forever, each level a parallel and a complement of one of Charles’ own.

Charles doesn’t realize how far he has sunk — how far Erik has allowed him to — until the other man puts a gentle hand on his shoulder and shakes.

“We should get some rest,” he says quietly, glancing at the darkened windows above them before leaning in to give Charles a soft kiss. Then he smiles a tiny smile, just one corner of his mouth as the edge of mind glows a faint pink and Charles thinks, _shit_.

 

Charles’ telepathy manifests when he was nine years old. It takes a while for him to realize what exactly the voices in his head are, and that he is in fact sane — or as sane as he can be, under the circumstances. There are ups and downs when it comes to his ability, he finds as he grows up, but decides that the benefits make up for the inconveniences and has no qualms taking advantage of those benefits. He knows instinctively that it is wrong to drastically alter someone’s personality and he is rarely seriously tempted to do so anyway, but outside of that, making sure he is never noticed skipping classes or making himself invisible to Cain when he is in a temper has never raised any moral alarm bells for him. It isn’t until his first year at Oxford that he begins to doubt.

“Go talk to him, I’m 80% sure he would be interested,” Charles urges Raven, after an entire hour of her staring at the dark-haired man sitting in the booth in the corner of the pub.

As they watch the man and the two others he is sitting with, he looks over and his eyes pass in their direction in a vague way for a moment before turning away again. Across from Charles, Raven blushes and shrinks in her seat (not literally, thankfully).

“Go on! Look, his friends are getting up— he’s alone right now. Go!”

Raven just shakes her head.

“Come on, it’s not that hard.”

“Easy for you to say,” Raven sulks. “Everyone likes you, they can’t help it. Even I like you, God knows why.”

Raven is whining, of course, but something about the way she says the words suddenly knocks the breath out of Charles’ lungs.

_Everyone likes you, they can’t help it._

_I don’t do that,_ Charles thinks desperately to himself, _I never have and I never would_. Somehow, those words don’t sound very convincing to himself. He tries to think of the last time he was rejected and draws a blank. _It’s because I check their interest beforehand,_ he tells himself.

_Even I like you, God knows why._

Wasn’t there a period of time, only a few years ago, when Charles could feel her resentment at everything he did or tried to tell her? When she would bristle at his words and repeatedly challenge him? It had frustrated Charles, but he had dismissed it as teenaged rebellion and the fact that her contemptuous attitude soon dissipated seemed to confirm his theory. But now that he is thinking about it, he tries to recall a professor or a teacher who didn’t at least take a general, absentminded liking to him or an acquaintance who resents his presence and can’t think of any either.

 _That doesn’t mean anything, you can’t know,_ Charles tells himself. But the thought never completely disappears after that.

 

When she is twelve years old, Raven has Charles make her a promise: “Don’t ever read my mind again.” At the time, Charles is angry and hurt, wondering why his sister is shutting him out when they had spent years being so close.

He isn’t angry or hurt anymore. He is terrified, because he thinks that Raven may have had a point. He knows that even though he consciously keeps his telepathy close and avoids crossing into Raven’s mind, sometimes thoughts and feelings still leak through — though he doesn’t tell her this, scared that it would only turn her farther away.

He begins to watch her more closely than he ever had before, tries to read her without his telepathy, in hopes of learning the answer to the question he is both so desperate and so afraid to know.

Once he catches her staring at herself in the mirror. That in itself isn’t a rare occurrence, but this time she is in her pyjamas and blue skin, poking at the scales on her arm. Charles stops, unsure of what to do. Finally, he asks her, “What’s wrong?”

Raven doesn’t say anything for a long time. Just when Charles is about to turn and walk away, she asks, “Would you date me? Looking like this?”

Charles is wrong-footed by the sudden question. “You’re my oldest friend,” he stammers. He starts to babble about not being able to see her that way, but then he notices her expression in the mirror and wonders about what she is really asking. “But if I didn’t know you, of course I would. Any young man would be lucky to have you. You’re stunning.”

“Not everyone would think so,” she replies scornfully, but she is smiling slightly as she walks away and Charles hopes he has said the right thing.

Now that Charles is giving more attention to Raven instead his thesis, he realizes that Raven isn’t as happy as he always assumed she is. When he had been accepted at Oxford, he hadn’t even considered not bringing Raven with him. He didn’t trust what his family would do to her if she were alone. It didn’t cross his mind that she wouldn’t want to be together with him like they have been all these years, or that she wouldn’t want to give up the silent halls of the Westchester mansion to live in the lively, winding streets of Oxford.

When she returns to the flat after another shift at the restaurant, ranting about the customers as usual, Charles says, “You know you can leave, if you want. Not that I don’t want you here, but you’re not a child anymore. You don’t have to stay.” He makes the offer even as he cringes inside at what he is saying, hoping for a swift denial.

But Raven says nothing, just makes a noncommittal sound as she drops her bag and sits down on the sofa.

 

After that night on the steps, Charles’ relationship with Erik doesn’t change, even though he thinks that it probably ought to. He never meant to get this close — close enough to track Erik’s every thought running through his mind as if it were his own, to feel them wrapped around him like a blanket. Close enough for Charles to influence and shift them, little by little, without either of them realizing it, until they are more a reflection of who Charles wants Erik to be than who Erik actually is. Close enough for Charles to never want to let go.

But let go Charles will have to, it appears. Erik has never hid his intentions of killing Shaw despite Charles’ many protests. Being so deeply in his mind also means that Charles can see the nightmares that hide in the corners of Erik’s thoughts, leaping out every once in a while and colouring the brilliant matrix of his mind dark and bloody. Every time they appear, they seem to leave the landscape a little more distorted than before, no matter how Charles tries to keep them away with expensive scotch from the cellars or gentle kisses when no one else is in sight. It only gets worse as their training progresses, as Erik gains greater control of his abilities and their team edges closer and closer to that long-anticipated confrontation. In his desperation, Charles sometimes thinks about diving deep into Erik’s mind and wiping away the lurking monsters, before emerging guiltily from the traitorous thoughts. But for a telepath, what is the difference between thinking and doing?

Part of Charles tells him he needs to let Erik know, to make him aware of how dangerous it is just to be with Charles, but Charles can’t seem to get the words out. He doesn’t want to feel Erik’s betrayal and disgust. Some conscientious part of him comes to feel a twisted satisfaction and relief each time he notices an ugly thought marring Erik’s mind, taking it as proof of his own innocence. Erik will soon leave him anyway, he comes to believe, so there is no need to say anything and accelerate the process. The ending will be the same either way.

 

Sebastian Shaw has been captured and the Hellfire Club disbanded.

Charles should be happier, but he can’t bring himself to celebrate like everyone else, even Erik, is doing. Erik who, despite all of his previous plans to the contrary, had looked into Shaw’s unblinking eyes and through him to Charles, had taken out the old coin from his pocket and spun it menacingly around his palm but finally let it drop harmlessly to the ground.

He had closed his eyes and turned away, holding Shaw’s helmet under one arm as he said, “Take him out, Charles.”

Charles did. He searched out the neurons connecting Shaw’s consciousness to his abilities and ripped them to shreds — a paralysis of his mutation, if you will — before sending him to sleep. Then Erik led the unconscious man out of the submarine by his belt, leaving the coin he had carried with him for so many years to sink to the bottom of the ocean along with the destroyed submarine.

“Charles, there you are!” Raven cries, letting herself into his room and throwing her scaled arms around him clumsily with what Charles suspects has already been a handful of shots. “Come on, we’re all downstairs, and we even managed to get Angel to join in.”

They had disabled Azazel and Riptide and handed them over, but Charles had insisted on bringing Angel back. She had been alternatively subdued and angry — not surprising with the vicious barbs the boys, especially Alex, have been throwing her way — and it is definitely good news that everyone is getting along. Charles forces a smile and makes himself follow. The echoes of the joyous gathering he feels from downstairs ring hollow for him, and he doesn’t know if he is ready to face Erik yet. But this is a victory for the rest of them them. Even though his guilt overshadows and dampens any triumph he feels about the accomplished mission, he knows that the rest of the team have worked hard to save the world and he won’t ruin that for them.

The night wears on and Charles is thankful that they are the only ones for miles around. The halls ring with laughter and shouts, and more than one piece of priceless antique is dropped or shattered or incinerated. Charles tries to smile and match the others’ antics, but it takes conscious effort and leaves him feeling drained. For once, the night feels much too long and Charles waits restlessly for the energy to die down. He is thankful that most of the others are too intoxicated and high on adrenaline to notice. The one person who seems to realize that something is amiss and sends repeated looks his way is Erik, making Charles feel worse. Finally, he claims that the repeated use of telepathy that day has drained him of his mental resources and heads up to bed early amidst heckling of being an old man.

Over the next few days, Charles can’t bring himself to face Erik. All he can think about are the words Erik had spoken to him the night before they left for Cuba, his own fervent wishing to keep Erik close even as he followed him telepathically into the submarine, and the resigned way that Erik had turned away from Shaw. It is surprisingly easy to avoid him since, for his part, Erik doesn’t seem keen on speaking to Charles either. As the reality of everything that he had happened that day sinks in, Erik seems to withdraw into himself, pensive and, Charles thinks, regretful. Never a particularly social person to begin with, Erik is absent from the games and gatherings of the others and he doesn’t seek out Charles after dinner as he used to. Charles retreats from his usual place in Erik’s mind, unable to stand the anger he is sure to find there in addition to his own guilt. He only keeps enough tabs on Erik’s general location to know when they are in danger of bumping into each other in the hallways or being left alone in the library so that he can quickly disappear.

It isn’t until close to a week later that the uncomfortable stalemate is broken. Erik is waiting for him by his bedroom door that night. Charles’ stomach sinks with dread. There is no way to avoid the conversation to follow short of sending him away with a telepathic command.

“Is this it then?” Erik asks when the door shuts behind them. “Should I go?”

So he is getting right to the point, then. Charles closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to ready himself. “Yes, I suppose so,” he tries to say as evenly as he can.

“I see,” Erik bites out bitterly. “We’re done with Shaw, so now you’re done with me. What was it then, just your attempt to control me?”

Charles recoils at the words as if struck, even though he has spent the past few days coming to terms with the reality of them. “No!” He cries. “Well, maybe I did but— please believe me, it was never my intention. I would never want to change your mind for you. I would have stopped if I had realized it was happening. Please, whatever else you do, please understand this,” he pleads.

Erik is staring at him, and Charles is grateful that he doesn’t look as furious as he did before. Maybe Erik believes him, after all.

“What are you talking about, Charles?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“I know you intended to kill Shaw, my friend, and I am so sorry that I stopped you. I didn’t want you to, but I never meant to take away your control.”

Erik is quiet for a moment, then: “You think you stopped me from killing Shaw?”

Erik’s confusion pulls him away from the panicked edge he had been so close to. “Well,” Charles says hesitantly, “you were so sure about doing it, right up until you didn’t. It was so abrupt, I’m not sure what else it could have been.” Charles feels horror creeping up at the idea that Erik may not even realize what Charles has done, that he may not even understand the true nature of what he has been struggling with the past few days. Charles wonders, like he has many times before, what exactly he is capable of.

“And that’s why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Charles nods, miserable.

Erik laughs then, and Charles looks up, shocked. “You didn’t. I changed my mind.” His light tone settles back to seriousness again. “It was a split second decision and it has taken me a while to come to terms with it, but I think I made the right choice.”

“And why is that?”

“I realized you were right. Killing Shaw wouldn’t have given me peace.” He pauses, watching Charles scrutinizingly for a while. Charles doesn’t know if he finds what he is looking for, but he continues, “but I think I may have found what will.”

Charles doesn’t know what to say to that, but he can feel his throat filling with tears and he wants so desperately to believe what Erik is saying.

“Trust me, I know my mind better than most people,” Erik adds. “If you did something to it, I would know.”

There isn’t a way for Charles to contradict that out loud to Erik, even as he wonders to himself, _would you really?_

 

After long discussions with the group, they decide to send Moira back to the CIA with some key pieces of memories erased. The jungle that the mansion grounds have turned into in the years of neglect gradually loses their wildness, and Hank leads the effort to rebuild Cerebro in the basement. The rest of the unused rooms in the building become livable again, one by one, as they prepare to turn the mansion into a school and safe haven for the mutants who need it. But as Charles lives and works beside Erik every day, entwined in his thoughts, he wonders if he is even now twisting them.

He knows that Erik is aware of the continued presence of his suspicions, but Erik refuses to let him step back and reintroduce the safety of distance. “You think too much,” he informs Charles, before shoving a pile of paperwork or an electrician’s number at him. At least, he comforts himself, Erik isn’t a totally unsuspecting victim.

One day, when Charles is in his office getting through the headache of the latest set of construction permits, Raven sidles in with two bottles of beer and sits down in the chair in front of him, cross-legged.

“What are you up to, old man?”

Charles grimaces and holds up the piece of paper on top with the title in large black letters. Raven makes a face. “Must be fun, being the master of the house.”

Charles shudders. “ _Please_ don’t ever call me that again.”

Raven grins. “You know, I remember why I like you now. I can always make you do the hard stuff for me, and you make that _hilarious_ face when I make fun of you.” She imitates Charles, but with just her head so that the rest of her is still blue and ensconced in a sundress. The effect is disconcerting, to say the least, and causes Charles to accidentally make The Face again.

“And,” Raven adds, thankfully settling back into her real face, “you’re not a terrible brother either.”

Charles snorts. “Thanks for that,” he replies wryly.

Raven shrugs. “Just wanted to remind you of that, before you kill yourself with the paperwork and I have to be the one to take care of this old tomb.” She grabs her beer and stands, letting the office door bang shut behind her and leaving Charles alone with the paperwork again.

That night, as he walks into the dining room, Charles notices Erik setting a hand on Raven’s shoulder and murmuring, “thank you.”

 

The days and years pass, but the nagging suspicion at the back of his head doesn’t. Ironically, it becomes the main source of tension between him and Erik, contributing to more than a few heated fights echoing through the halls of the mansion.

“It’s been years, Charles!” Erik yells as he sits up abruptly from his armchair, face red and angry after another guilt-ridden afternoon. “We’re running a school. We have kids to take care of. We’re happy. We have a life! Why does it still matter to you?”

Erik stomps out and leaves the study, the doorknob twisted and deformed behind him.

_Why does it matter?_

He doesn’t think that Erik means it that way, at least not consciously, thinks that it is only an unthinking turn of phrase for Erik’s frustration, but the question stands out nonetheless. Does it matter? Charles asks himself. Erik has settled into his role as headmaster and mentor remarkably well, providing a steely and unwavering, if gruff, figure that many of his lonely, unanchored students find reassuring in a way that Charles himself isn’t. Over the years, he has gradually let go of the pain and anger he kept so close to his heart so that he is no longer coiled so tight with rage and grief as to snap without warning as he used to. Erik has come to accept himself, come to take pride in his work and the success of his students. He is at _peace_ — so does it really matter?

Yes, it does.

As for Erik, he doesn’t seem to have realized what he has implied and the thoughts it has inspired in Charles. He doesn’t speak to Charles for three days outside of their administrative duties. He slips out of bed and showers and goes to his office, takes his meals with the staff like usual, teaches and does the paperwork and slips back into their bed again at night, all without saying a word to Charles. Charles can still feel the way his mind pulls and stretches as he goes through his days though Erik makes no effort at communication.

He doesn’t leave that time, or any of the times in the decades that follow, even through all their disagreements, the changes beyond the school walls and Charles’ receding hairline. Charles wonders if he would feel better or worse if he did.

 

As the school walls fill with more and more telepaths, Charles teaches Erik and the rest of their first class to shield. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Emma and the students per se, but the most senior of the staff have been party to too many secrets to not take precautions.

Two weeks after Jean Grey arrives at the Institute, Erik steps into their shared suite one night with a distinctly pleased tint to his thoughts. Looking up, Charles sends him the mental nudge of an inquiry.

“I ran into Miss Grey in the hallways on the way here, trying to sneak out. She tried to convince me I didn’t see her, but I caught her right away.”

“That’s great, darling,” Charles exclaims, glad that the shielding practices are working.

“As soon as she got in there, it just felt _wrong_.” Erik grins. “See? I told you I can tell if someone is messing with my mind.”

Charles knows what he is saying, but he doesn’t reply that it doesn’t quite work that way as the shields are his, just opens his arms to Erik. It’s a dance that they have perfected in the years they have spent together, skirting around the issue they have come to acknowledge that they can never get past. At least, Charles thinks, he can make sure that nobody else can touch this beautiful mind.

 


End file.
